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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416639">look what you've done (to me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma'>shineyma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode: s04e16 What If..., F/M, Season/Series 04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:20:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It says a lot when a kidnapping isn't the worst part of one's day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>look what you've done (to me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ta-da! Week THIRTY SEVEN, y'all! And it's a WHOLE DAY early!!! tbh I'm proud of myself, especially because today happens to be Jemma's birthday!!! This probably isn't how she'd like to celebrate it, but oh well.</p><p>I hope everyone's having a great week! Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A bit of lunch-time shopping has been just the thing. After a long morning full of stressful meetings, disappointing results, and a screaming row with Leopold, Jemma finally finds it in herself to smile as she walks out of her favorite boutique.</p><p>Of course, three steps outside the door, the smile drops—and her bags along with it—when she finds herself abruptly surrounded by masked gunmen.</p><p>Bloody typical.</p><p>“Freeze,” one of them barks. Quite unnecessarily, as their sudden appearance stopped her in her tracks, but she can’t find her voice to snark at him. “Hands up.”</p><p>Jemma swallows. There’s a panic button on her bracelet, one which will send alerts to both Grant and Leopold, who respectively will drop everything to rescue her <em>or</em> send an entire phalanx of guards to do it for him. Either way, she feels her chances of survival will drastically increase should she hit the button.</p><p>The question is…can she manage it without getting shot?</p><p>“He <em>said</em>, hands. up,” another of the gunmen bites out. “<em>Now</em>, Simmons.”</p><p>Drat. Not that she particularly thought this might be a case of mistaken identity or (even better) random chance, but it’s still not encouraging to know they’re after her specifically.</p><p>The uninformed might be scared away once clued into her identity and the power she holds. The <em>informed</em> are either stupidly brave or, she fears, very well prepared.</p><p>There’s nothing for it. She <em>must</em> hit the panic button.</p><p>“Very well,” she says. Previous experience serves her in good stead; she’s able to keep her voice calm despite her terror. “There’s no need to shout.”</p><p>She brings her hands (rather less steady than her voice) up slowly, in a <em>calm down</em> sort of gesture at her middle, as an excuse to bring them close together. It allows her to bump one wrist against the other, and she feels the panic button on the underside of her bracelet <em>click</em> into place<em>.</em></p><p>With that reassurance, she’s able to still the shaking in her hands a little as she lifts them to shoulder level.</p><p>“See,” she continues, “I’m cooperating.”</p><p>“Freeze,” the first one barks again, and Jemma does, stopping her hands somewhere around her ears.</p><p>He motions at one of his compatriots—one who’s just on the edge of her peripheral vision, and quickly leaves it to circle behind her. The sudden grab at her wrist puts her heart in her throat, but he doesn’t move to touch her bracelet. He only yanks first that arm and then the other down and behind her.</p><p>The handcuffs snapping in to place aren’t unexpected. That doesn’t make them any less frightening.</p><p>“What’s this about?” she tries to ask, but only gets the first word out before, quite rudely, the man behind her shoves a gag into her mouth.</p><p>It all goes very quickly after that: she’s lifted off her feet and, struggling, attempting to shout through the gag, shoved into the back of an unmarked van.</p><p>The cliché of it might well have disappointed her, if not for the first man’s very unsettling, “Tell the boss <em>mission accomplished</em>.”</p><p>The words chill her. The prick of a needle in her neck, on the other hand, nearly sets her to attempting to headbutt her way out of the van.</p><p>She doesn’t get the chance. Before she can so much as tense up in her fear, everything goes black.</p><p> </p><p>0101010</p><p> </p><p>Even as Jemma startles awake, she’s being shushed, warm arms gathering her close in comfort.</p><p>“It’s okay, I got you,” Grant murmurs as she—disoriented, frightened—clutches at his shoulders. “I’ve got you, you’re safe, everything’s fine.”</p><p>For a moment, she’s soothed. His low voice is comforting, and the reassuring words he offers are familiar. She’s accustomed to this, as he often calms her so after nightmares, and it’s a relief to relax under the weight of his hand on her back, to trust that she’s safe when he holds her close.</p><p>But it isn’t right.</p><p>Even as the frantic rabbiting of her heart slows, her mind is beginning to tick, aligning the facts and highlighting everything that doesn’t make sense about this moment.</p><p>She remembers now <em>why</em> she shot awake like that, terrified and ready to fight. The last thing she remembers is the van—the prick of a needle and her captor’s eerie words.</p><p>How did she come to be <em>here</em>? Where’s Leopold?</p><p>…And where, for that matter, <em>is</em> here? The room is dim, nothing at all like the Triskelion’s 24/7 industrial fluorescent lighting or the wide windows of the loft she shares with Grant. This is—</p><p>“I can hear you thinking,” Grant says against her temple, pairing the words with a soft kiss to her skin. “You must be feeling better.”</p><p>That said, he sits back against the couch they’re (apparently; she had barely noticed, caught up in him and her thoughts) curled up on.</p><p>It’s unfamiliar, but she doesn’t have long to linger on the couch. Her attention is quickly arrested instead by the room around them: dark brick and concrete, dim lighting, windows with frosted glass making up the top half of the far wall...</p><p>This…is not the Triskelion.</p><p>And Skye is hovering near the door, her face creased in worry, even though she’s never cared for Jemma at all.</p><p>“What,” she says. In her startlement and confusion, she rather forgets to make it a question. Forcing her eyes away from Skye and back to Grant, she tries again. “What happened?”</p><p>Grant’s eyes flicker past her briefly, but she doesn’t follow his gaze. She knows him well enough to recognize he’s not looking <em>at</em> something so much as looking <em>away</em> from her. He’s calculating, trying to decide…what? Whether to lie? How much to share?</p><p>Either way, it’s unacceptable.</p><p>“<em>Grant</em>,” she says, with as much force as she can muster. Her head is pounding, likely as a result of whatever she was drugged with, and there’s an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. “The truth.”</p><p>He sighs. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Not the most encouraging of beginnings.</p><p>“For what?” she asks, heart in her throat.</p><p>“I love you,” he says, and takes her hands in his. “That wasn’t a lie. It never has been.”</p><p>“But <em>something</em> has,” she surmises. Hardly a surprise, considering just who and what he is. Still, his grim face unsettles her. “What, Grant?”</p><p>“The first time you introduced me to the doctor,” he says, very slowly, “he accused me of using you to get close to him. He was right.”</p><p>Jemma’s heart doesn’t just skip a beat. It stops completely.</p><p>“What?” she manages—barely.</p><p>“I was never supposed to fall in love with you,” he says, “but you’re…” He stops. “I know you don’t want to hear that. Just—as hard as it might be, please trust me. Everything I feel for you, it’s real.”</p><p>For a moment, she can only stare. Then, all at once, her mind and her heart kick back into gear, and she scrambles to her feet.</p><p>“Jem—” he starts, following her, but she shoves him back.</p><p>“You’re SHIELD,” she accuses.</p><p>He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”</p><p>Pieces are slotting into place.</p><p>“Those men—that kidnapping—that was <em>you</em>,” she says.</p><p>Grant grimaces. “I’m sorry. I was about to be made and if Hydra—”</p><p>“You were <em>spying</em> on me,” she says, ignoring his attempt at explanation. “Using me as a—an <em>avenue</em> to Leopold. For SHIELD. You seduced me for your bloody <em>mission</em>.”</p><p>“Baby—”</p><p>“Oh, I should’ve known,” she fumes, and gives him another shove for good measure. “Always the double bloody agent, aren’t you? I don’t think you can even help yourself!”</p><p>Plainly taken aback, Grant blinks. “What?”</p><p>“What?” Skye echoes from her awkward place near the door.</p><p>“Whatever,” Grant decides. “Baby, listen—”</p><p>“Oh, don’t you <em>baby</em> me, Grant Ward,” Jemma snaps. “We are <em>completely</em> done. You’re never to come anywhere near me <em>ever</em> again, do you understand? You can take your lies and your spying and your bloody talk of marriage and <em>shove them up your</em>—”</p><p>She’s cut off by a kiss. A deep, passionate one that, despite herself, she returns at once. For all her perfectly justifiable anger, she all but melts into him: the familiar taste, his grip on her neck, his steady strength.</p><p>When they finally part, equally breathless, her knees nearly give out from under her. It’s pure obstinance that steadies her.</p><p>“I can tell you need some time to work through this,” Grant says quietly. He’s still well in her space, close enough that his chest brushes hers with every breath. “So I’ll give you some room. But we are <em>not</em> over, Jemma.” He cups her shoulders and drops a swift, sweet kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not giving you up without a fight.”</p><p>So saying, and before she can decide whether to punch him or reel him in for another kiss, he turns and walks out without a backward glance.</p><p>Naturally. He just <em>always</em> needs to have the final word, doesn’t he?</p><p>Rolling her eyes in exasperation (<em>not</em> fondness), Jemma turns back towards the couch—and then nearly startles right out of her skin when Skye speaks. She’d completely forgotten her.</p><p>“Always the double agent? <em>Please</em> tell me that means what I think it means.”</p><p>Ah. Yes, Jemma rather thought so.</p><p>Smiling to herself, she turns back around to face her. “Hello, Daisy.”</p><p>“Oh, thank god,” Daisy says, and throws herself at her for a desperate hug. “You’re you!”</p><p>“Naturally.” Jemma settles into the hug, resting her chin on Daisy’s shoulder and letting herself luxuriate in the joy of it. Though she’d never admit it, Skye’s determined dislike has been hurting her for months. “I’ve missed you.”</p><p>“God, you have no idea,” Daisy mutters, and then pulls back. “But <em>how</em>?”</p><p>“Daisy, please.” She tries not to look too condescending, but likely fails. To her minor embarrassment, she’s never quite got the knack of hiding her occasional flashes of intellectual arrogance. “I’m a <em>genius</em>. It takes more than a little virtual reality programming to fool me.”</p><p>Daisy’s brow furrows. It’s an adorable expression, one that fills Jemma with a warmth she’s been missing for too long. “But Fitz—?”</p><p>“Ah.” Jemma sighs. “I know it’s easy to forget, in light of the near-miraculous recovery he’s made, but Daisy: Fitz has <em>brain damage</em>—and not in the insulting colloquial sense. His brain was actually, physically injured and remains so to this day.”</p><p>“Oh,” she says, sheepish tone suggesting she had indeed forgotten. “Right. So the Framework got its claws deeper into him because of that?”</p><p>“Yes.” Jemma frowns. “It may well be doing further damage to him, in fact. If you’ve a way out, we must use it as quickly as possible.”</p><p>Daisy grimaces. “Unfortunately, not so much. I did program a back door, but it’s not working. For now, we’re stuck here.”</p><p>“Bloody marvelous,” Jemma mutters. Well, if they’re not about to escape… “I need to sit down.”</p><p>Her head is still pounding from whatever she was drugged with, to say nothing of the excitement of first being kidnapped and then finding out her lover has been spying on her. It’s with some relief that she collapses back onto the couch she woke up on, and she closes her eyes for a moment in the hopes it might help.</p><p>It doesn’t. When she opens them again, she finds Daisy frowning at her.</p><p>“Hang on,” she says. “If you remember the real world, <em>why are you evil</em>?”</p><p>Jemma’s headache is not going away. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“You experiment on people!” Daisy accuses. “You <em>vivisect</em> them! I got a whole thing this morning about how scary you are!”</p><p>Jemma stares. “Daisy. It’s a virtual reality program. They’re not real.”</p><p>“I know, but…they’re still <em>people</em>.”</p><p>“They’re really not.”</p><p>Daisy narrows her eyes and jabs a finger in Jemma’s direction. “Is this some kind of repressed mad scientist thing? Vivisecting people, terrorizing the masses, <em>sleeping with Ward</em>…”</p><p>Honestly, Daisy might not be entirely off base. Jemma <em>has</em> found her experiments fascinating to a perhaps inappropriate degree. (It’s only too bad she can’t trust the results; there’s no telling what the Framework might have skewed and she obviously can’t recreate the experiments in the real world.)</p><p>Still, she’s hardly about to admit as much—and so she chooses instead to address a different point.</p><p>“Again, Daisy, Grant <em>isn’t real</em>,” she says. She hides her impatience better than she did the condescension, she thinks. “I’m not sleeping with Ward, I’m…essentially making use of a particularly interactive vibrator. There’s nothing ‘mad scientist’ about it.”</p><p>“Yeah, except he <em>is</em>.”</p><p>Not for the first time in the last half hour, Jemma’s heart stops. That <em>cannot</em> mean what she thinks it does.</p><p>“Is what?” she asks—tentatively, dreading the answer.</p><p>“Real,” Daisy says shortly. “I had to run from the Playground—the real Playground—after realizing it’d been <em>invaded by evil robots.</em> Less than six miles away, Ward’s Hydra picked me up. Thought I was done for, but it turned out they just wanted to ask whether I knew what’d happened to their <em>Director</em>.” Jemma barely sees the face Daisy pairs with the term. “He got plugged in, too. The jackass you’ve been sleeping with is the <em>actual Ward</em>.”</p><p>Jemma nearly whimpers.</p><p>If there’s one thing the past three years have shown, it’s that Grant Ward never lets go of <em>anything</em>. Just a few weeks before this nightmare started, she stumbled over a bit of rubble whilst exploring a lab Hydra had destroyed, and he popped up out of absolutely nowhere to (with a saccharine smile) promise to catch her if she fell.</p><p>He’s spent <em>years</em> rubbing her old crush in her face. And she’s just spent literal months (by her perspective, at least) living, sleeping, and quite frequently <em>showering</em> with him. They’ve been talking about <em>marriage</em>, for goodness’ sake!</p><p>He is <em>never</em> going to let her live this down.</p><p>“Well,” she says, rather faintly. “Bugger.”</p>
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